


Sakura Grove

by Mythril (fantacination)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Down the rabbit hole, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Kinda feels like a manga premise, M/M, Mystery, Okami - Freeform, Rating will probably go up, Unconditional Love, Wolf!Shiro, amefurikozo, basically just be prepared for anything, be our guest meet ill make a man out of you, bride to the supernatural, ghibli feels, keith is so confused, light mystery tho, myth-bending, warnings and other tags to be added as they appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 00:37:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8079991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantacination/pseuds/Mythril
Summary: Keith is a recruit stationed in Japan, a place with old memories and a layered promise that he only half-remembers in dreams.Jaded, he thinks he has his life figured out. But Keith has forgotten more than most ever know and what he doesn't know may soon close its jaws around him.





	1. Chapter 1

It was funny how the mind worked. Memories faded- colors first, then the shapes distorted and dissolved. Something like the smell of damp earth and cherry blossoms, the feel of bark under his palm, hard and brittle enough to bruise, started to soften and crumble.

Until he started to wonder if he’d been there at all. 

Keith did remember Japan- in bits and pieces- he remembered vaguely that there had been a competition. His then-foster parents had signed him up for it. 

What he didn’t know if he remembered was a moonlit night, in some park he couldn’t say the name of, and meeting someone-- he thought: a boy-- he thought: older. His edges had blurred like watercolors on a rainy day, but he could still see the suggestion of kind eyes and a soft voice. 

But maybe that had been a Sister’s. Maybe he’d had a fever, then. 

He was too old for dreams, now. He was twenty and he had been turned out of his foster home shortly after his eighteenth birthday passed.

It was fortunate that he’d already gone to join the army. 

He didn’t need a lot. A place to sleep, enough food to quell his stomach, and a purpose for being. The army had made sense. 

It was simple irony that the decision had led him back here- doing military exercises in Japan, years later. 

Keith stood outside the bar the troops had piled into to celebrate the end of the exercises, the warm yellow glow spilling like broken yolk on the street pavement outside. Keith lit the cigarette he’d pickpocketed from a drunk patron with a match from the little booklet from another. 

It took a moment, but the tip of the cigarette glowed a bright, hot ember. 

Keith took a drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs, and blew it out in white mist. 

The night air was chill enough that he huddled close to the dissipating warm air from the bar. The winter dragged like a bridal train, a snowy, cold veil over the countryside. 

“Cadet, get off the table!” the captain roared at one of the cadets from inside. 

Cheers and laughter erupted- the noise getting louder- enough that it sounded like someone was heading out. 

“Keith, is that you?” Carter crowed. “Why the hell are you out here freezing your balls off? Or is there just nothing left to fall off?” He snorted, then seemed to realize what Keith had in hand. 

“That’s a cigarette.” 

“Genius, Sherlock.” 

“If the captain catches you smoking you’re gonna be in for it.” 

“Good thing he’s not going to,” Keith said cooly, pushing off the side of the bar. “I’m going for a walk to clear my head.” 

“You didn’t even drink!” 

Keith wasn’t paying attention, anymore. 

He walked until the bar district was a faint point of lights, keeping his eyes on the street until the concrete gave way to matted leaves and flowers. Small, white-pink petals crushed under his combat boots like snow. They were so thick. 

Keith looked up. 

Springing from the cracked concrete were two enormous trees he hadn’t noticed in his walk here. At night, the cherry blossom trees-- sakura trees-- looked like pale brides, heads bowed under the weight of veil and ornamentation. 

Keith stepped back from them, trying to get a better look- and stumbled over a tree root. 

“Careful.” It hadn’t been until then that Keith realized how quiet it was at night and this far out from the night district. 

He turned towards the voice. 

It was a tall man, his eyes deep and dark, almond-shaped. His hair was cut very short save for the long white forelock at the front and he was wearing an elegant dark kimono. He couldn’t tell what kind, but he’d seen plenty of old men in the bar relaxing in less formal variations of it. Broad shoulders filled the cloth well He had a scar across the bridge of his nose that sat ill on his kind face. 

“You don’t want to fall down here.” 

“Yeah,” Keith said awkwardly, trying to figure out why this guy seemed so friendly. In his uniform, people tended to avoid him, reading that he was foreign despite his mixed features and wary of the knife he carried openly on his belt. 

The man smiled back like Keith had just made his day. “You came back.” 

Was he… a shopkeeper? Keith wondered if one of the others had broken or borrowed something. 

“Come on.” The man held a hand out. 

“I don’t have any money,” Keith blurted. 

The man blinked, startled, then laughed. “It’s alright. Just you is enough.” His hand was still out. 

Hesitant, Keith took it. 

He didn’t know why. Only that he did. 

And the man’s smile made it worth it. “Let’s go.” 

He turned towards the sakura trees and where Keith had thought had been just endless dark road, he could see the beginnings of a bridge. 

A bridge of smoke, like the wisps from the cigarette still clutched between his teeth. Underneath it was running water, fallen cherry blossoms floating in lazy, swirling clumps. 

It was the middle of winter. Too early for running water. Too early for cherry blossoms. 

The man tugged him over the steps.

“Wait--” Keith gasped, but it was too late. 

His feet sank several feet into the mist before he found anything like solid ground.

And the man-- the man had two long white ears peeking out of his short hair and behind him floated three magnificent white tails. They nearly glowed in the dimness they passed, bounding with his steps. 

“Run with me,” he said, and his strides lengthened, forcing Keith to keep up. It was like he was growing larger the faster they went, or maybe Keith was getting smaller, until it was all he could do to hold this strange man’s hand, so warm in his own. 

He gasped for breath as they ran, his cigarette falling, swallowed in the fog that now lapped at their ankles.

They ran until the darkness around them had turned into murky dawn, until suddenly they were in bright springtime light. An old-fashioned japanese garden sprawled in front of them, the two sakura trees from before forming a gate. A small oriental mansion- or what he could see of it- was nestled between trees that blazed with deep red oranges. 

The man turned to him, catching his other hand and bringing them together between his own large ones. His eyes were still dark. Still kind. His voice so soft, so low. 

“You're here. I’ve waited for you.” 

“I don’t understand. Who are you?” What are you? 

“I’m Shiro,” the man said simply. “Thirteen years ago, you promised yourself to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt over @PepperPaprika: Shiro x Keith - Under the blooming Sakura tree, petals raining on them on a night with the sky filled with stars and the moon shining, a promise was made.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith should know better. Should have known better than this.

It was an old dream.

He was kneeling in the middle of rocky trail, covered in dirt. Trees far taller than he arched above him, so ancient that their gnarled roots frothed from the ground like lashing snakes. In the cradle of his too-small hands was a puppy wrapped in his bright red jacket. Red like the spots on the puppy’s white coat. Red and white like his worn mud-streaked sneakers.

The birds circled above them, feathers drifting down like soot. On his lap, the puppy whined, high and soft, tiny lolling tongue parched.

The caw of the crows echoed like water on stones.

Keith woke.

For a second, he couldn’t tell where or when the dream had started. Was it when he’d left the warm glow of the bar behind him? Had he gone out with the rest of the troops after all or had he simply napped in his own bed until they’d gone?

When had the hard edges of his life, the taste of grit on his tongue, blurred into wool-covered dream?

Then he realized he wasn’t sleeping on his hard cot in the army barracks.

A plump cotton futon separated him from a tatami floor. He wasn’t wearing his army uniform or even the gray cotton undershirt that went underneath it. Instead, he was wearing a black robe-- a kimono, finer than anything he had ever touched in his life. The cloth was heavy and the hand-painted pattern rolled in bold, blood-red flames, inked in white.

He turned to his side, one hand pressed flat on the floor to push himself up--

And came face to face with a tiny, one-eyed monster, about the size of his palm.

Slowly, it blinked its single soot-black eye, peering at him.

“Ah!” Keith yelled, bolting upright. The gremlin shied back, running to hide behind a boy he hadn’t seen before.

“You sure sleep a lot,” the boy said. He was about ten or twelve, dressed in a stormy blue yukata. He sat crossed-legged on a silk pillow, leaning forward with with chin propped on one hand. His entire demeanor gave off the impression of being entirely at home watching a stranger sleep.

“Who are you?” Keith asked.

“I’m _Amefurikozo_ ,” the boy said. “One of them, anyway. My whole family’s like that. But you can call me Lance!”

“Lance?” Keith repeated. He’d said it strangely: _Lan-su._

“Yeah, cool, huh? I heard it from the humans. I'm the expert on humans around here.”

“Humans,” Keith echoed flatly. Because this boy wasn't one. No more than the one-eyed fuzzball that was darting shy looks at Keith from behind him.

“Are you stupid? Shiro's never brought any stupid ones before. Not that he brings us a lot of people, but he used to ask them things.” Lance peered at Keith curiously, but clearly found him lacking.

“You don’t look like much. Do you have a final form?”

Keith probably shouldn’t stay in this conversation too long.“Where’s…” That man. Animal. What was he? Demon? Spirit? Kidnapper? But he had a name, didn’t he? It was--

“If you mean Shiro, he's probably with the _Yama no Kami_. He's going to ask for her blessing.”

Blessing for what? Keith didn't ask. He wasn't sure he wanted to know more than he ought to.

He pushed the embroidered coverlet of the futon back, only to stop short. Two trays floated past him in the air, bearing lacquered dishes and bowls.

“Breakfast!” Lance said enthusiastically, taking the tray that settled near him with a gentle bump, the dishes and ceramic cup barely jiggling.

Keith felt his bedding slip out from around him, wriggling and folding away into a gigantic box he hadn't recalled being in the room. It left him sitting awkwardly on the tatami.

He looked at the uncovered dish, trying to figure out its contents. He recognized miso soup, steaming gently from a delicate dark bowl, paired with rice and what looked like crisp fried tofu skin. Grilled mackerel rested on a small, rectangular plate, back gently bowed, as though caught mid-leap from the water.

A pair of ivory chopsticks laid neatly on a tiny porcelain rest.

Keith felt like a monkey expected to perform.

And at the back of his head, he vaguely remembered a story about a girl trapped for six pomegranate seeds.

He pushed himself up, the heavy cloth of the kimono falling neatly around him.

He couldn’t go back like this. “Where are my clothes?” And his knife.

“Your clothes are being washed. They smelled gross. Even worse than usual humans stink. The rest of your stuff is over there,” Lance said, pointing at a woven cloth box.

Keith found his dogtags, belt, knife, and sheath. He hadn’t brought a wallet to the outing and all his identity cards were likely still left at the barracks. He strung the knife and dogtags on his belt and wore it under his kimono, tucking loose ends behind the folds and figuring he’d change when he saw his clothes again.

“Where is this Yama-- whatever it was. “Keith asked as he tugged the kimono flaps roughly back into place. He wondered who had dressed him. It was chilling to think he had no memory of it. Or worse, it might’ve been the unimpressed brat licking his bowl clean.

“She has a shrine up north,”  the _amerifukozo_ said. He didn’t seem to notice anything odd about Keith hiding a knife under his clothes. “You're not going to eat that?” Lance asked, instead, looking interestedly at Keith's tofu.

“Help yourself,” Keith said, pushing the tray towards Lance.

He found a likely-looking wall and walked towards it. The paper screen door slid obligingly to the side.

The hallway outside was open, a veranda that ran the perimeter of the house for as far as he could see. The garden was even more stunning than he remembered it, a colorful burst that somehow still managed to blend harmoniously.

Keith looked down, attention drawn by a moving stalk of grass. Just under the veranda, a short train of little people, barely taller than his hand and barefoot, marched while carrying bunches of herbs above their heads.

He watched them until they disappeared under the house, then shook himself.

What time was it? How long had he been out? He looked up, hoping to find some sense of direction or time from the sun. He had to get back. If he’d spent the night then he would’ve been absent at lights out and roll call without leave.

The sun was high, but it was hard to tell what direction it had come from. The sky spread out in a crisp blue that was better suited to summer than winter.

He remembered the sakura trees, blooming in the snow, but all he could see now was a vast pond and evergreens that were completely unfamiliar. He hadn’t seen them the night before. Not that he’d seen much of anything last night before he fainted, he thought a bit darkly.

He crouched near the water, staring into the moss-green depths. Rocks were stacked around its rim and there were lotuses floating gently across the surface.

In a patch of clear water, two beady eyes stared back at him, then two more, set in blue amorphous faces that didn’t resemble much anything at all. Bright orange fins crested their heads and swept from their sides.

Translucent fish, barely longer than a finger, in gorgeous riots of colors and white wispy trains of fins swirled in the pool behind the creatures. As if gathered in a net, the fish rose from the water, floating in the air.

Keith pulled back from the pond’s edge, wary.

But he wasn't getting anywhere if he played it safe. He eyed the school of ghost fish and asked.

“How do I leave?”

The fish swooped to the right, diving low before disappearing around the corner of the veranda.

Was that an answer? Had they understood?

Keith followed them, bare feet on the hard, warm wooden floor. They wove around eachother, skating through the air. But when he turned a corner, they were gone.

“Great,” he muttered. “Thanks a lot”

He looked around to see if the view had changed, but something else caught his attention.

Where he’d thought that there was nothing but brush, there appeared to be a narrow dirt trail, only visible from the veranda’s advantage of height. A small stone lantern, unlit, was half-collapsed into the roots of a nearby tree, marking the path. Moss was creeping over it, turning the ashen gray face a soft, muted green.

Keith dropped off the veranda, feet smacking onto dirt, and walked up to the path. One step inside and the sun dimmed, the air chill and moist. It felt almost dense, like a very thin water instead of air.

But it didn’t hurt. And it didn’t seem poisonous. So he forged on, one foot in front of the other, deeper into the woods.

It wasn’t long until he saw a red archway. It was built simply, but solidly, two bright red pillars rising out of the ground to support two beams- the lower one was straight and slotted through the posts, keeping them together. The second was more like a curved roof that capped the structure, connected to the straight beam by a short block of wood.

Memory flashed into his mind- they’d passed an archway very much like this one before he’d fainted last night. The trees were different, but who was to say the trees hadn’t moved? Anything was possible in this place.

The archway got larger as he walked towards it, until it was ten, maybe twenty times as tall as he was, covered in worn gold inscription and pieces of paper. Each massive post was too large for him to even hope to wrap his arms around.

Who would build an arch this large that didn’t seem to lead to anywhere? Everything beyond was still the same old worn dirt path. It gave him an uneasy feeling. Something this grand was built for a reason- an important one. But right now, he couldn’t see what it was.

Keith stepped forward--- and bounced off.

He frowned. “The hell is this?” He circled around the space. Dead air. He reached a hand out-- resistance, like he was pushing against an invisible spring.

He pushed harder.

At first, it was like trying to get through a thick mattress- then, slowly, it started to give, swallowing Keith’s hand. He took one step, two, then suddenly he was standing on the other side.

A wind shivered through the trees. The sun was completely invisible from this side of the gate and fog swept in at his ankles. He was seized, suddenly, with the urge to move. Some bone-deep instinct that told him he had to. A cold fear threaded through the feeling, like he was a rabbit waiting in an open field at night. It was dark. So dark he couldn’t see beyond his outstretched hand.

The lights came first.

Small, drifting balls of fire emerged from the fog, floating down. They gravitated towards him, coming closer. Each one was a compressed globe of bright-hot flame. They drifted around his sinking ankles. Keith stepped back, wary of being burned. In the eddy he’d caused, the flames curled together, forming one larger flame, and out of it, a dense smoke that pulled itself, taffy-like, into the shape of a thin, pale girl.

“You,” the girl said, “you’re human, aren’t you?”

“Human?” said another voice.

“ _Human_?” chimed in others.

The fog started to stir.

A woman stepped forward, face indistinct. She was slender and pale, with long black hair that split from the crown of her head, falling on either side like a tar waterfall, and dressed in a stained white kimono.

“Such a pretty, pretty boy,” she crooned, laughing slowly, long pauses between each coughed syllable, like the creak of a house. “Such lovely skin you have. Will you give it to me?”

Other shapes were starting to well from the fog, shambling forth. Monsters with beaks and fangs or barbed tails, one eyed ogres and a goblin with a neck like a snake. A shapeless form, like a swatch of paint, opened a hundred jaundiced eyes.

“What are you?” Keith asked, unnerved despite himself.

“We-- we are _yokai_ ,” the woman purred. “And _you_ are prey.”

One of them licked him. Another clung. His legs locked up. The fog turned searingly cold, like dry ice. Keith stumbled, feeling like he was standing on slurry.

He couldn’t die here.

His hand plunged beneath his kimono and fumbled for his belt, pulling the knife out. It was barely six inches, a joke to even one of their sharp claws. He wished he had his gun. He wished he had a bazooka, if he were honest.

“What’s that?” they jeered, laughing.

Keith brought the dagger up, but it passed through. The monster shrieked. “It burns!”

“Take it, take it away!” the woman roared.

They converged upon him.

Keith pulled back, slashing wildly out to scare the more cowardly ones off. But a tiger with a human head slunk towards him, undeterred.

The ghost-woman leapt for Keith’s throat. He turned to answer her with the knife.

It left his back open.

Keith braced himself for the feel of fangs rending his flesh- then gasped as a blur of ethereal white swept past him, pouncing on the yokai. It was a wolf. An enormous wolf with a heavy white coat, eyes dark as ink. It was larger than a lion, suffused with light like starshine.

The wolf pressed massive paws onto the yokai’s back, teeth rending the spirit in two. It disappeared with a screech.

The other spirits fled, scattering back into the fog like stones sunk back into a pond.

“Keith,” the wolf said, an unearthly rumble. It sounded like thunder, like a downpour. Then it paused and shook itself, shrinking and shedding into a smaller shape, a man’s shape.

“Shiro,” Keith said numbly. It was the man from last night. Bare, he kept the wolf’s powerful grace coiled in his lean, muscled body, perfectly proportioned. Like he’d been sculpted by an artist. Or a god.  Faded scars marred his skin and there was something inked along his right arm, like a sleeve of calligraphy. His ears pointed forward, his tails aloft.

Keith stepped back, unsteady. He should have run. He shouldn’t have stopped. What had he been thinking, last night, following this man here?

Shiro’s eyes flashed black and silver. “What were _you_ thinking?! Why did you break the ward on the gate? It’s dangerous outside! You should know that! What if you get eaten? You’re unprotected and now all of _Reikai_ has your scent!”  

“Know what?” Keith snapped back, head starting to pound. “You haven’t told me anything! I don’t even know what you are! How do I know _you_ ' _re_ not saving me for dinner?” He didn’t understand anything. What was a ‘reikai’? What did it mean if they had his scent? Why was he here?

He was dizzy, head a sharp ache that threatened to split in two.

Silver-dark eyes narrowed and Keith flinched.

Shiro walked up to him, sweeping his arm. An invisible, solid wind pushed Keith back, forcing him past the gate. Instantly, he felt lighter, falling back against the bright red post.

Shiro followed him through, leaning into Keith’s space and wrapping an arm around his slender waist, folding Keith into him so they were pressed hip to neck, Shiro’s nose buried in Keith’s hair.

He was too warm for a man without a stitch of clothing on, a solid pillar of heat. It was unexpectedly grounding. In the fog, nothing had seemed so real.

“That should clean some of the taint,” Shiro said, after a moment, still visibly upset, but his eyes had settled back into plum darkness. “What do you mean you don’t know what I am? Don’t you remember?”

Keith shook his head, “What am I supposed to remember? You said I promised myself to you- but I’ve never met you.”

Shiro grabbed his hand, the left one, and pressed it to his mouth, breathing on it. His mouth was warm. Soft, with a hint of teeth that reminded Keith all too much of the wolf that bristled with fur.

“Then tell me what this is on your finger,” Shiro demanded.

“There’s nothing--” Keith jerked his hand back, then stopped.

On his pinky finger was a bright red braided cord, tied tightly. It was glossy, like silk, but it was starting to fade already, like an afterimage drawn in the fog of a mirror. The cord looped, then swung down, connecting to Shiro’s hand, where an identical tie bound it to his own finger.

“Why…” he tugged, feeling the cord tighten. He took the loose end in his hand and pulled almost experimentally. It gave no matter how hard he tugged, like it was on an endless spool of red thread, but it always snapped back into place.

“It’s the red string of fate. We bound it together. You promised yourself to me, then. You said you’d be mine.”

“Be… be yours?” Keith was struggling to grasp the concept. It was simple, but his head hurt so much it was hard to concentrate.

“Be my bride,” Shiro clarified. “You promised you’d marry me. That you’d belong to me forever.”

The wind was roaring. Until Keith couldn’t hear it. For the second time in as many days, he keeled over, unconscious.

  



	3. Chapter 3

_“Any wish?” Keith asked, his breath misting a little. It was cold enough at night that he regretted running out without his jacket. But if he’d been slower, Jonas might’ve caught him._

_And Shiro was warm, their sides pressed together under one of the trees that scattered petals like snow._

_“Anything I can grant,” Shiro explained. He’s wrapped in a white robe, a loose black coat on top of that. His arms were around Keith, folding him into the coat’s warmth as the they looked out at the rain of petals around them._

_“What should I wish for?” Keith asked._

_“Anything you want,” Shiro promised._

_“What if what I want is to belong to someone?”_

_Shiro didn’t seem to think the request odd at all. “You can belong to me, if you want.”_

_“You mean you’ll adopt me?” Keith asked, perplexed._

_“We don’t have anything like that. Not the way humans do. But I could marry you.Then we’ll be each other’s family forever.”_

_“That sounds nice,” Keith said, after a pause. “Can I do that with you? You won’t mind?”_

_Shiro huffed a laugh. “I’d love to.”_

_“Do I have to do anything?’_

_“Yes. You have to make a promise with me. I’m not strong enough yet, but someday I will be. Then I’ll grant your wish. Will you wait for me to come for you?”_

_Keith nodded seriously. Often, like today, Shiro couldn’t do much at all and he had to rest. “Okay.”_

_Shiro bit his thumb, his teeth sharp, and painted a rough circle around Keith’s littlest finger._

_“Now you do it to me. That way we can find each other.”_

=

When Keith woke, this time, he was on something warm.

It was the wolf, carrying him back to the house. His fur was soft and smelled like winter air. Keith was belly-down on his enormous back, limbs dangling down. He sat up carefully, knees slipping in the silky fur.

“You’re awake,” Shiro said, and paused, letting Keith gently down onto the tatami of a room he didn’t recognize. The room didn’t have much in it, just two deep purple pillows and what looked to be a tea set, tea already served into the deep, wide cups. They looked a lot like small earthenware bowls. A single sakura petal each floated on top of the pale green tea.  

The wolf padded to the other side of the room, turning back into a tailed man in a fluid twist, almost like shaking off a skin. He picked up a heavy dark robe- no, a kimono, done with a design of white cranes, and tugged it over his body, the whisper of the cloth against his skin silken.

Even half-dressed, he wore the garment with more dignity than Keith did. Keith’s kimono was thrown open from when he’d grabbed for his knife and the subsequent struggle, showing the sprawl of his pale thighs. He reached to tug it closed, then realized the knife was gone.

There weren’t any pockets on the kimono, nowhere else that could’ve stored his things.

He looked up, feeling the weight of Shiro’s stare on him, on the gaping slash of the kimono below his slim obi.

Their eyes met and he saw not a hint of apology or shame in being caught. Shiro’s eyes, like the boy he remembered, were strange. Dark and piercing but with an underlying gentleness. That kindness had been enthralling, to the child he was. Shiro’s movements, his natural sensuality, made it seductive.

“Looking for this?” Shiro asked. The knife was in his hand.

“It’s hard to believe you kept it without remembering a thing...” Shiro commented, voice trailing off as he considered the hilt.

Keith frowned. “What do you mean? It’s just a knife. I’ve always had it.”

“Not always,” Shiro said, and turned the knife over, gripping the hilt in reverse. “This is not a knife. In the hands of the right swordsman...” he swung the weapon up, the blade blurring into a length of silvery steel. “A katana, to keep you safe.” He held the sword out, level with his chest, and it shrank back into its original size. “At rest, it remains a _wakizashi._ The steel is special. You’d be much worse off if you hadn’t had it with you.”

He set the dagger on the table and Keith reached for it, keeping a wary eye on Shiro. It would be counterintuitive for an enemy to arm him-- but then, Shiro could have had it removed when he was unconscious.

Shiro smiled a bit sadly. It was a startlingly human expression.

Keith tucked the knife away. “Thanks,” he said into the awkward silence.

In the quiet, Keith’s mind bubbled with questions. How had Shiro known about the knife? Was it even still his knife, or had it been switched? But the worn grip, the scratch on the flat pommel, it was all the same.

More than that- the creatures from before, the ones that had called themselves _yokai_ , had been frightened, if only for a short while, of it. That was valuable, in a place like this.

“You’ve changed so much,” Shiro said quietly. “And you’ve only grown more beautiful. I’d forgotten how short, how dynamic human lives are. Thirteen years was enough for you to forget. But you came back, anyway. You took my hand.”

Nobody had ever called Keith beautiful. But nobody he’d ever met had turned into a wolf or kidnapped him, either.

“That was… I didn’t know what it was for, then.” Keith shifted in his cross-legged seat. The kimono didn’t really adapt to well to the pose, despite being roomier than he expected. He’d forgotten, it was true. But he’d remembered, too.

And if he hadn’t had that dream; hadn’t remembered it so vividly, he might’ve lied. But in the palms of his hands he could still feel the ghostly warmth of Shiro’s then-small hands.

“Shiro,” Keith said slowly. “ I was a kid.” A child, filled with so much loneliness that it felt like an ache. A child who still believed such things could be wished away. Even then, he’d already been passed over. Too strange, too quiet for beginning parents to bother with. “But I’ve grown up. I have responsibilities now and I’m making a place for myself. I don’t need to belong to anyone but myself, anymore.”

“You could make a place with me here,” Shiro said, wrapping his now-large, surprisingly neat hands around a cup and taking a sip.  

“No, I--” Keith shook his head. “I don’t remember all of it, but I’m human. I’m not like you. I can’t marry you.” Not to mention they were both men. “Besides...You do know I’m a guy, right?”

“Yes?” Shiro said, faintly puzzled, something canid about the tilt of his head and the swivel of his ears.

“Guys aren’t brides,” Keith explained patiently. “I wouldn’t know how to be one, anyway. I can’t give you kids or cook or any of that. I’m a soldier. A trainee,” he added. “But I-- I don’t even know how to _be_ with someone. Never have,” he confessed quietly. Love had been out of the question. A long time of learning not to get invested had cured him of that. He’d tried casual sex, but it had left him feeling just as empty as before.

And he might not have a lot of experience, but he knew enough that you couldn’t base a relationship off of some half-forgotten promise you’d made when you were too young to know any better.

“I’m sorry you waited so long, but you can find someone else to marry you. I need to get back to my unit. My world. With other humans and--”

“You can’t,” Shiro interjected, setting the cup down with a thump.

Keith frowned at the sudden interruption. “Why not?”

“Because they know you, now. They’ll track you even to the human world.” Shiro’s face was grave.

“What? Who knows me?” Keith demanded, confused.

“The _yokai._ Some call them _ayakashi._ The spirits you saw. Those may have been bottom rung spirits, but you can be sure they’ve told everyone about the human in _reikai_ by now. They’ll come for you in numbers. And I won’t be able to protect you everywhere, there.”

“What? Why would they do that? I’m human, but it’s not like I’m the only human around. There’s seven billion out there,” Keith argued.

Shiro stared, seeming to struggle to explain. “You’re not just any human, Keith. You can see us. You have…. _Reiki_ . More than most humans. And that makes you-- _tasty_ ,” he said.

The pauses between words made Keith wonder, with uncomfortable realization, that ever since he’d met Shiro, he’d understood everything perfectly, as though they were speaking in English. More magic? It was another mystery of this strange world. But he didn’t want to derail this conversation to discuss linguistics.

“What’s this-- _reiki_?”

“Spirit energy,” Shiro said, after a further pause. “It’s also why you were able to break the barrier with nothing but your will.”

Keith shook his head. “So let them. I’ll just scare them off with my knife.”

“You’re worse than a child. Your fumblings barely scared them off- it wouldn’t have lasted long had I not found you,” Shiro reminded. “Are you ready to spend the rest of your life running? Hunted?” he asked tightly, dark eyes foreboding.

Keith blanched at the idea of living constantly looking over his shoulder for a pale woman or floating fire.

He shook his head. “There has to be another way.”

“There isn’t. It’s already impossible for you to return, Keith.”

His voice gentled. “Our bond is already weak. Before long, I won’t be able to sense you even within my realm. We _must_ marry. The sooner the better, before it dies out completely and all of my remaining protection with it.”

“And I told you I _can’t_ . I can’t marry you or stay here forever!” Keith started to rise from the pillow, fists clenched in frustration. “And nothing you say can _make_ me!”

“So you’d break your promise?” The air suddenly seemed heavy, sharp with cold.

A more tempered man than Keith would’ve bitten his tongue. Would’ve thought twice. But Keith had no time for thoughts when his pulse thrummed in his throat, lighting a fire under his tongue.

“I didn’t know what I was doing! Or what I was asking for-- how can you even want to marry me just because you have to grant one wish? It’s my wish and I don’t need it anymore. I’m stronger than that, now.”

Shiro matched him, leaning across the table and it felt like the air blazed with a thunderstorm. “Just a wish? You saved my life! I owe you a debt and it must be paid! That’s the way of my clan and that’s the way of the mountain.”

“Fine, then cancel my wish, debt paid!” Keith argued, refusing to give, bracing himself against the sudden gust.

“It was an oath made in blood. Blood _seals_.”

“Then _unseal_ it--” Keith wanted to say more. But he was struck by another sudden wave of dizziness. He had no desire to faint again, especially not next to an angry wolf, so he bit his lip and dug his nails into the meat of his palms, willing himself awake.

Shiro sat back down abruptly, the air around him lightening.

“Fuck,” Keith breathed, once it passed.

The door slid open and a tray of food much like the one he’d seen that morning-- was it still morning?-- floated in.

“That sickness. You’re adjusting to the _reiki_ here. My apologies,” Shiro said stiffly, lacking some of his earlier grace. He looked tired. Unhappy.

“And you haven’t eaten, I heard.” He motioned the trays over. “Eat. Please,” he said quietly.

Keith looked at the food. Thinly-sliced translucent sashimi was arranged artistically around flowers made from carved vegetables. There were two covered dishes and a salad. Probably some kind of soup or stew again.

Keith eyed it warily, on the lookout for a trick of some kind. 

“You’ll need to keep your strength up, or you’ll find yourself asleep more often,” Shiro said. “It’s not poisoned. Nor will it do anything but nourish you.”

Unfortunately, Shiro was right. Keith couldn't afford to starve himself indefinitely and he needed to keep his wits about him.

He picked up the chopsticks. He had a familiarity with them from cheap chinese takeout places, but not much else.

He ignored Shiro’s gaze as he stiffly picked up a gleaming piece of fish. He wasn’t a big fan of raw food but he knew enough to know what it was. The thin slice melted in his mouth, surprisingly smooth and almost buttery.

“Spirits have long memories,” Shiro said, apparently satisfied that Keith would eat, and rose. He tied his robe closed with enviable, almost regrettable, ease, tugging the belt into place. “Not many things are as constant in our world.”

“Humans may be fickle, but you haven't changed where it matters, Keith. And I… I’ve never stopped loving you,” he said softly, and left the room.


	4. Chapter 4

Keith sat stock-still, reeling in the wake of Shiro's confession.

It was all a little too unreal. It’d been unsettling enough to find out that his unnervingly handsome, literally-a-wolf kidnapper seemed to want to marry him. But it had made more sense if it had been because he’d been a stupid kid who made a stupid wish. Life debts- he could understand that. He hated owing people anything.

But ‘love’? He wondered if he’d misheard it. Or if wolf-spirits had a different understanding of it.

The confusion made him pause, but the anger simmered beneath. What was he supposed to do with that declaration? What gave Shiro the right to use it like it was a weapon?  Just because he ‘loved’ him, did that give him the right to keep him here?

He forced himself through a few mouthfuls of fragrant rice and the contents of the covered dish- which seemed to be some kind of thick vegetable stew.

Strange, but delicious. The mild bite and rich flavor deepened with the flavor and texture of the vegetables in it.  

He pushed the tray back when he was done and was about to get up when--

“Is it bad?” A voice asked. It sounded low but boyish. A little shy, maybe.

There was a young man at the doorway, kneeling outside the room and what appeared to be a tray of dessert floating at his side. He was big, his bright, yellow striped kimono seeming to barely contain him. His face was round with a generous mouth and kind eyes. There was, also, a tiny leaf on his head.

“It’s just, you didn’t eat anything at breakfast,” the newcomer worried. The tray floated inside. It looked like shaved ice, drizzled with the light yellow syrup that smelled faintly citrus. Berries and a wedge of lemon were arranged on top.

“What--?”

“ _Tanuki_. Me, I mean,” he said, pointing to his head and showing Keith a small leaf. When he turned to usher in another tray, he had a long, puffy tail. Keith had seen wooden carvings around town of a big bear-like raccoon with a tail like that.

“Huuunk!” A bright voice chirped and the boy from earlier ran into the man’s side, latching himself there. He was small enough that he looked comically tiny next to the bear-racoon.

“Lance, you can decide what we call you but not what everyone else is called,” the tanuki-- who was also apparently called ‘Hunk’- scolded.

“But I’m bored. And hungry. And you made sweets but you didn't give me any,” Lance whined. He leaned over Hunk’s shoulder and saw Keith, blinking. “Oh, you’re still here- I thought the _yokai_ ate you.”

“I was too tough to chew.”

Hunk was the cook, then. He wasn't sure if he felt more or less relieved that the food didn't actually magically appear out of thin air. On the other hand, he had no idea what a tanuki was, though he seemed nice enough.

Lance, it seemed, was eying his dessert with great interest. Hunk slapped gently at a reaching hand.

“I'll make you mochi later, that's for the bride.”

Keith flinched. That again. “I'm not, actually.” If nothing else, he refused to answer to that name. “I’m not the bride. I can't marry him. I'm not going to.”

Hunk blinked. “Why not?” Lance had adopted a similar slack-jawed shock.

“But he's the _okami_!”

“We've been preparing for your wedding for years!”

Keith frowned, the significance of their words somewhat lost on him. "Sorry to say you wasted your time. I’m not marrying anyone.”

“Why? Are you married to someone else?” Lance asked somewhat skeptically.

“I- no,of course not. I’m just not ready. I’m too young and I'm training to be a soldier. We’re not allowed to marry.” Not that it had exactly been a point to consider for him when he'd joined.

“And,.. I don't… know this Shiro.” A puppy of a boy who'd grown up into something dangerous and untamed. Who seemed quieter and sadder. But then, Keith supposed, he wasn't exactly who he'd been when they met, either, no matter how much Shiro might think he was right, he was clinging to a ghost, a memory of the past Keith had no hope of living up to anymore. Better that they didn't pretend either of them were the same.

“What do you mean?”

Keith shook his head. “He's different. He's grown up, too.”

“Well he's kind of had to rebuild from the ground up, you know. It's pretty amazing he got this far! And he's barely older than me!” Lance puffed excitedly, eager to tell Keith about Shiro's many good points.

“He rebuilt this whole place- it used to be his clan’s but he's the only one left, now-”

Hunk shushed Lance, evidently feeling that he'd said enough.

Keith sobered anyway. So Shiro had been orphaned, just like him. He wondered if that was part of his missing memories or if it came later. What he'd seen of the house, the compound, had been vast. Easily big enough to hold a clan of giant wolves. But if Shiro were the last then it was small wonder he'd filled it with other friendly spirits. Not like him, but family, still.

Maybe that was why he wanted so badly to add Keith to his collection. Maybe that was why he thought Keith might like it, too. Once upon a time, he would've loved it here.

He sighed and accepted the shaved ice.

“We thought you might like it better since you had no appetite,” Hunk said, perking up.

Keith slid a spoon of cold, powder-soft ice onto his tongue, tasting the sweet-citrus of it, “it's good, thanks.”

Whatever contentions he might have with Shiro and his methods, he could hardly take it out on unassuming spirits who so clearly wanted to help.

“We?”

“Me and the master--ah, Shiro,”

Keith frowned. Has Shiro given instructions after he'd swept off? No, he had known about breakfast, he would've spoken to Hunk before they’d met again.

Just one of a dozen little things that clattered to form words. “ _I've always loved you_.”

“You said he brought humans here, sometimes?”

“Just a few,” Lance said, looking at Hunk a bit guiltily, as though it were information that he hadn’t been supposed to share. “None of them stayed long, though.”

“So there’s a way for humans to go back?” Keith pressed.

“N-not exactly,” Lance said, getting nervous. “They… didn’t go back to the human world.”

Keith frowned. “What? Then they’re still here? Where are they?”

Hunk cleared his throat. “They’re not here, anymore. They were… souls. So they went wherever human souls go. That’s all I know about it.”

Keith’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “So they just… disappeared?”

Hunk and Lance shrugged. “Well, they were never supposed to be here.”

What did that mean for Keith? Obviously he wasn't a spirit or-- or was he? Keith realized, suddenly, that he had no idea if he were truly alive. Had he left some comatose body on the streets when he'd taken Shiro's hand? He paled at the thought.

“You're not like them, though,” Hunk hastened to add, as though reading his mind.

“Am I-- am I still alive?” Was he dead and that was why Shiro told him he couldn't go back?

Lance frowned at him. “What's that mean? You're here, aren't you?”

“No, I mean--” Keith made a frustrated noise, trying to articulate it. Of course spirits wouldn't understand that being a spirit meant ‘dead’ for humans.

“But, am I.. if I went back what would happen to me? Can I?”

Hunk looked worried and lance just seemed more confused. “Happen how?”

Keith shook his head. This wasn’t getting anywhere. “I have to go. Maybe I can find someone else who knows more.”

“Wait-- you haven’t finished your meal,” Hunk objected.

Keith didn’t listen. The room was built out at the end of a short bridge, surrounded by some few feet of walkway. Beneath it was a shallow pond, cluttered with lilies. The ground didn’t seem sharp and nothing _inside_ the gate seemed to be dangerous--not that it would matter if he were already dead, he supposed.

He dropped down into it.

Soft, sandy silt met his feet, puffing up in clouds. The water barely reached his calves, but it soaked several inches of his kimono. He pulled the ends up, tucking it into the belt so it stopped at his knees, and relished the sensation, for a moment. Like the food, like the scent of fresh water, it seemed too real-- too visceral to be experienced dead. How could being dead feel so alive?

He waded across the pond slowly. The fish stayed clear of him, darting away from the ripples he made. The water was shallow, but it seemed to stretch the further he went, the sun halfway in its downward arc by the time he was able to see anything but clear water. It was a walkway, suspended in the air without a single visible post.

He pulled himself up on the planks. The other side of the pond wasn't too far away, rocks giving way to verdant grass and a shaded grove of twisting pine trees,

Moss covered the stones here, blanketing the ground like a rug.

Sitting on top of one particularly large rock, hidden by a tree, was a  girl, mixing something brightly-colored in a bowl. She was small, almost as small as Lance, dressed in an olive kimono that looked like it would blend in with trees at night. Her hair was very light, unusual in this place, pinned up in a ponytail.

“Hello?” Keith asked a bit warily. She _looked_ human enough, but so were many of the people he’d met so far.

“Shh, I’m busy,” the girl said, deftly pounding the mixture with a small, beautifully carved stone pestle. Writing was inscribed into the round pommel but the rest of it was shaped perfectly smooth, and symmetrical, and polished to a pearly luster.

Keith ventured a bit closer, curious. The mortar held powder, a vivid red hue that glimmered, almost. Small jars set aside showed deep, velvety black liquids that hinted at a glossy purple in the right light. She added small crushed shells to the mix, pounding still.

“What's that?” Keith asked.

The girl sighed at yet another interruption, but she finished the powder, “Paint, all of this is,” she said. “For wards and charms, mostly. Messy, but necessary.” She showed Keith her paint-stained fingers, smudged from fingertip to elbow.

“So you must be the bride. Where’s _Tsukibotsu_?”

“What?”

“ _Tsukibotsu,_ the katana you have,” she said almost patiently.

Keith drew the knife warily. “I didn't know it had a name.”

“Most good swords do,” she hummed, holding her hands out for the blade.

Keith hesitated. “I'd rather not.”

She frowned. “I'm the _Yosozume_ , not some common crow. You'll get him back when I'm done checking what you did. I bet you haven't been taking care of him properly.”

Keith handed the sword over reluctantly.

“But _if_ I were a crow that was definitely too easy,” she said cheekily. “You're unexpectedly gullible aren't you, Mr.Bride?”

Keith frowned, feathers ruffled. “What are you planning to do to it?”

“Just check it over.” She got up, and when she turned Keith could see small sparrow-like wings tucked against her back, dark and mottled. She fetched a vial and a grayish cloth from a toolbox behind the stone and started to polish the blade.

“You didn’t do too bad, all things considered,” she said approvingly. “I guess that’s a soldier for you.”

It was the first time anyone had ever seemed to even acknowledge the fact.

He remembered, suddenly, that Lance had said the _Yosozume_ knew more about humans than the rest of them.

“I’d like to get back to being one, actually. I heard there were humans here before- did they ever make it back to… the human world?”

“Nope. Not really,” she said frankly.

“So there isn’t a way back?”

“There could be, but humans would die before they get there. Easier to just accept your fate.” She shrugged.

“...So right now, am I alive?”

“You mean your body?”

“Yes,” Keith said, relieved that he wouldn’t have to explain it.

“Well your body’s here, technically- he brought it with you,” she said.

“But I guess it depends on what you think being ‘alive’ means. When a spirit ‘dies’ they cease to be. There’s nothing left. Not a body or anything. I guess we’ll find out if you leave a corpse if you die out here, though!” she said optimistically. “Not that I’d recommend it.”

Keith frowned. “...And if I wanted to try anyway?”

“Then you’ll need a guide and protection. A blessing wouldn’t hurt. This place is like an island- it’s sacred ground- places like here are just little bubbles. Everything between is _Kukyo_ \- like a sea, but more like quicksand. There are safe paths, the major roads, you could say, but finding them can be tricky, it all depends. Alignment of stars, the time of day-- whether the _Kukyo_ likes you or not.”

“Likes me? It can feel things?”

“It’s generally accepted that it has _some_ kind of sentience. You could say it’s a god. Spirits can get trapped in it. Changed by it. The _yokai_ you saw? Some of them probably couldn’t make it out. Some just never wanted to get back out.”

Keith repressed a shudder. “Are there… were they human, once?”

The Yosozume finished tending _Tsukibotsu_ , sheathing it and handing it back to Keith. “Some of them were. Paths are dangerous things, Mr. Bride. That’s why people warn you. But there are scarier things than _Kukyo_ out there.”

“Scarier how?” What could be worse?

“Well, _Kukyo’s_ not bad. Just lonely. Some _yokai_ out there, though, the ones who live outside Kukyo- they’re the real trouble.”

“Like what?” Keith wondered. He’d seen so many things since he’d woken that it felt like his mind had stretched, like hot taffy.

She shook her head, tilting her head. “No time. I think he’s here for you.”

“What? Who is?”

“The Okami, of course,” she said, and walked back into the little glade, turning into a small bird.

Her voice was the same, even as the bird disappeared. “I’d do what he wants, if I were you. He knows a lot more than you do about what happens when you don’t follow the rules.”

“What rules?” Keith shouted after her.

“Keith,” Shiro called, at the end of the floating walkway.

Keith turned towards him, frustrated at the interruption and glaring. “What, here to drop a couple of other bombshells?”

“I’m not your enemy, Keith,” Shiro said, frowning.

“Really? Could’ve fooled me. Just because you think you like me doesn’t mean you can keep me like a toy for your collection.”

“I just want you to give me a chance-”

“Maybe if you cared about what I thought I’d give it to you. You’ve--”

“Alright,” Shiro said.

Keith inhaled. “What?”

“I asked, there’s a way to get you back…” Shiro said reluctantly.

“How?’

“It would mean locking your spiritual energy away,” Shiro said, eyes unwavering.

“Great. How do I do that?”

Shiro frowned. “This isn’t something to be taken lightly. There are very few ways to seal someone’s spirit- it’s intrinsically tied to your soul. It can be-- dangerous.”

“You mean I’d have to trade my soul for it or something?” Keith asked, mildly perturbed.

“In a way. You would cease to exist to the spiritual realm.”

“But I’ll be back home? And I’ll still have a human life and die?”

Shiro looked pained, his words slow. “Yes. You would have your human life. You would never be bothered by any spirits. They will never be able to see or touch you. Nor you, them.”

“Where do I sign?”

Shiro looked at him unhappily. “I don’t have the power to grant that wish. You’ll have to travel to Gal.”

“Gal?”

“A place. There is… a witch, there, one knowledgeable enough to do what is required.”

Keith was starting to suspect there was more to this than Shiro was saying. “How am I supposed to get all the way to her? I thought I couldn’t even leave this place without getting some demon mob dogpiled on me?”

“I’ll be going with you,” Shiro said simply. “And for the protection-- I will need to renew our bond-- temporarily.”

Keith straightened warily. “What do you mean?”

“For the days until we depart, you'll be sleeping with me.”

Keith blinked. “ _What_?”

“In my bed,” Shiro clarified. “The contact will help renew the bond.”

“How do I know that’s not some kind of trick?” Keith asked, though he wasn’t sure what the point of it might be.

“I won’t hold you against your will. You don’t need to be afraid.”

Keith flushed a bit at the implication. “And if I don’t do this, I can’t go out. Is that basically it?”

“It’d allow me to protect you better on the roads," Shiro emphasized. 

Keith didn’t actually have much of a choice. But there was one more thing that bothered him. “Why the sudden change of mind? I didn’t think you’d fold this quick.”

Shiro fell quiet, but it somehow left the air charged. “The _yama no kami_ reminded me of something important: ' _kago no tori kumo wo shito'._  I don’t want you to be unhappy here, Keith, difficult as it might be to believe.”

“I’ll believe it when I’m back where I should be,” Keith said, brushing past him. “When do we start?”

Shiro turned towards him, watching his back. “Tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am overwhelmed by S2 feels but I have to get this out first. :'D 
> 
> Hope you guys still remember this!
> 
> kago no tori kumo wo shito - a caged bird longs for the clouds.  
> [google books ref](https://books.google.com.ph/books?id=wGb4zNqYj10C&pg=PA132&lpg=PA132&dq=japanese+proverb+caged+bird&source=bl&ots=RCcKBAafIp&sig=lYEXWqRIccEh2l2BRk1P2gGY-fU&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjt6rvClNrRAhXLk5QKHcXwBTkQ6AEIGjAA#v=onepage&q=japanese%20proverb%20caged%20bird&f=false)


	5. Chapter 5

Keith took a breath as he stood outside the room. Night had fallen all too quickly while he wandered the grounds and mostly quiet halls. The stars here were unrecognizable- sharply bright, like pinpricks in a velvet cushion. Beautiful, but meaningless to him- just another of many things that were now out of his control. 

As the halls and walkways darkened, lanterns were lit by invisible servants, providing a soft glow that no doubt silhouetted him against the paper door he stood against. 

Maybe the _okami_ wouldn’t be inside yet… Keith thought half-heartedly. He curled his fingers around the wooden frame of the door and slid it back. 

The inside of the room was dim, lit only by a single pale paper lantern set in a beautifully-carved wooden box-frame. The fire inside flickered, making the shadows move. 

But all of that was a distraction, a mental stopgap for the figure that reclined in the middle of the room. 

Shiro sat up as he entered, posture easy and relaxed. Instead of a blanket, the futon was draped in fur. He was naked, again, the glow of the light burnishing his skin, painting warm gold in broken glass shapes. It crested over the swell of muscle and disappeared into coy dips. The rest of him melted into shadow- the crest of a tail here pooled into silver and night. It made Keith’s mouth dry, far more intimate than he could’ve imagined. 

“I didn’t realize we’d have to be naked for this,” Keith said, voice lower than he intended. 

“It’s part of the ritual. I will need to write a ward on your skin.” 

Of course. 

Keith turned away a bit, starting to loosen his clothes. He felt those sharp dark eyes on him as he clumsily slipped the obi free and let the kimono slide from his shoulders, revealing the moonbeam-thin under robe. That, too, fell around his feet. He didn’t bother picking it up. 

Keith had been naked in front of strangers before. But he'd never been stripped by someone's gaze. It prickled on his skin. 

When Keith raised his head, Shiro was staring with complete shamelessness, lingering. His eyes were coals from a banked fire, sweeping him with an uncomfortable heat.

But Keith hadn't joined the army because he was a coward.

“So, how do we do this?” 

“Come here.” 

Keith went, bare feet silent on the tatami and feeling ridiculously exposed for the few steps it took to cross to the middle of the room. There was a small pot, a bar of ink for grinding, and a gleaming black-handled brush set on a tray he hadn’t noticed before. 

He knelt, sitting awkwardly on the furs.

“Turn around. It goes on your back.” 

Keith paused, reluctantly turning. “What are you writing?” 

“Words for protection.” Shiro picked up the slender brush, dipping it into the inkwell. The first touch of the brush was light, a little cold, then he felt the pressure deepen as the stroke thickened, forming the first line of the first character. 

Shiro worked with unhurried efficiency. Nothing but the tip of the brush touched his skin, feathering down from shoulder blade to the dip of his spine. Keith’s fingers twisted on his lap, breath uneven as the brush flirted closer down. He hadn’t been this aware of his body in a long time. But the brush stopped, returning to the angle of Keith's shoulder blade, starting anew. There were six lines, maybe seven, he wasn't entirely sure. Each one was done with meditative care.

“Done. The ink is dry,” Shiro murmured, as the last stroke curled away, and touched him for the first time since he came in, a light stroke of his shoulder. Keith swallowed and nodded jerkily. 

He turned and got into bed, turning his back towards Shiro even as he felt his warmth lick at his skin. He pushed up against it, earning a soft intake of breath, and then a muscled arm slid around him, pulling him close, white tails curling over his hip.

Shiro’s nose found Keith's hair, nuzzling down to his ear, where his breath puffed against Keith's neck. 

For a moment, he thought he felt lips, then the hint of a fang, and then it was gone. Shiro's hand curled up loosely around his ribs, resting almost complacently over his heart. 

It took a moment for him to realize the burning sensation wasn’t Shiro’s body but the words he’d written. It seared into his skin, like they'd been written in flame.

Keith gasped silently into the pillow, turning into it in surprise and recoiling away from Shiro’s body. Shiro’s hold tightened. “It’s alright; you’re fine,” he soothed. "It won't last." The sensation lasted a few seconds longer, then abruptly stopped. 

“Is that-- Is that going to happen every time?” Keith panted. 

“Yes, though the first one would be the most… intense.” Shiro pulled Keith back into the middle of the bed, stroking down Keith’s side slowly. The motion ended on Keith’s bare hip, Shiro’s large hand all but covering it. 

He couldn’t get hard, he reminded himself. There was no telling what would happen if he did.

If Shiro was disappointed, he didn’t show it. His nose, a little cold, pushed into the space behind his ear. 

When Keith slept, his dreams were of an endless dark road. 

=

It was the sun that woke him next. Shiro was nowhere to be found, the space behind him empty. He touched his hand to the indent left in the futon- cold. 

Keith slipped out from beneath the fur and felt behind him, wondering if the kanji the wolf-lord had written had scarred into his skin, like burns. Everything felt normal despite his trepidation and he had no mirror. He didn’t think himself vain very often, but he couldn’t help feeling a little anxious about it. Not knowing was worse. It was always worse. That was why he’d decided he could put up with schedules and fences and taking orders in the first place. 

His kimono had been folded neatly, stacked at the foot of the futon, his knife resting on top. 

He picked it up, turning the blade over in his hands. If he couldn’t do anything… then at least he could train. 

He shrugged his kimono back on, carelessly tying it closed, and headed out to find a clearing. 

A stone-paved area of the garden was ideal. He braved the forest beyond to take an abandoned tree trunk, hauling it back to use as a target.

He tried rolling up the kimono sleeves, but the slightest movement made them flop despondently back- the sleeves were a bit too wide to hold itself properly. He abandoned the effort, slipping his arms out of the sleeves instead. The upper half of the robe folded back against the belt, but tightening the belt kept things in place-- more or less. 

“Alright,” he breathed out. “Let’s see what you can do.” 

Keith frowned at the dagger and tried slashing up. It was a solid blade- and the heft of it against his palm felt good. But it was still just a dagger. He tried swinging his arm harder; flicking his wrist a little to give it an extra snap, but it didn’t change. Was it magically bound to Shiro, after all? 

Shiro was… Keith wished he remembered a bit more about him-- but nothing he’d done so far made sense with what he did remember. Shiro from the past had been kind and cheerful, always warm and quick to touch, with simple wants and needs. Then again, maybe all children were supposed to be like that. This adult version of his old friend was mysterious and a little distant-- the lack of personal space might be the same, but that was it. 

There was also the fact that he’d grown unreasonably large, Keith thought with envy. Even in his mostly human form, he was head and shoulders above; twice as thick as Keith was-- all without a spare ounce of fat on his body. Next to him, he couldn’t help but feel a little…small. 

Keith clicked his tongue and balanced his knife on a finger. Plenty of people had tried to use his height against him before- most of them learned better. But out here, there was nothing Keith could do. He highly doubted Shiro would lose in a fist fight. 

Except Shiro didn’t-- use it against him. He’d gotten angry but he’d left. He was going along with what Keith wanted, even if he might not tell him everything about it. 

It was… confusing. It wasn’t like he was blind to how desperately Shiro wanted him to stay. 

He just-- didn’t get this far by doing what other people wanted. 

Being stripped of his independence and any way to fend for himself? In a world that was clearly dangerous and so far beyond his abilities he might as well be a child again? That scared him. 

Keith let out a frustrated groan, driving the blade deep into the trunk with a savage thrust. It made a satisfying thud, the wood’s core soft. He yanked it back out. 

“ _Tsukibotsu_ wasn’t meant for cutting wood,” Shiro’s voice said from behind him-- but his dry tone quickly turned into a strained “Keith-- what are you wearing?” 

Keith turned and frowned back at him. “It’s the same thing I’ve been wearing since I got here.” 

“You’re--” Shiro shook his head. He himself was dressed in a smoky gray kimono, his ears twitching faintly in agitation. “You can’t go outside looking like that.” 

Keith gave him a flat look. “You were naked outside not too long ago. Besides, it’s not like anyone can see me.” He hadn’t even seen any of the little people since he’d pulled the trunk into place. 

“That’s different.” Shiro stepped down into the gardens, reaching for Keith’s clothes and straightening them. He smoothed the fabric down and tucked it back under the belt, before taking out two ties to pin Keith’s sleeves back. 

“You’re different.” 

Keith pulled away. “In my world, it’s not exactly inappropriate to see a guy topless.” 

“It’s not for want of propriety.” Shiro hesitated, letting his hands fall back, loose at his sides. “But there’s only so much I can endure. Fortunately for you, you don’t seem to have the same problem I do.” Shiro’s smile was twisted inward, laughing at himself. 

Keith looked away at that, his cheeks burning a bit.  
“Why were you trying to cut firewood with _tsukibotsu_? Surely you’re not that cold.” Shiro changed the topic, letting Keith step away. 

“I was trying to train. I don’t know how to use this sword… and if we’re going to be traveling, I need to at least pull my own weight.” 

Shiro frowned, his brow creasing in dismay. “But… I would keep you safe.” 

Keith blinked slowly as he processed that Shiro had thought he’d be-- escorting Keith, like some kind of helpless princess. The thought hadn’t even occurred. It wasn’t as though he’d expected Shiro to-- leave him in a ditch, but...

It had been a long time since he’d been protected. 

“I’ve always looked after myself.” Keith tightened his grip on the dagger’s hilt. 

”You’re stronger than even you can dream, Keith,” Shiro said gently. “But for the days until you return to your world, may I not take care of you?”

“I… can’t allow that,” Keith said, not meeting Shiro’s eyes, hearing the words that were wedged between the ones Shiro spoke, like a love letter tucked between the pages of a book. “I need to be able to defend myself, Shiro,” he said, voice hushed. He needed to be able to fight. 

Shiro nodded slowly. Just another in a long series of denials.

They stood in silence for a long moment, then, Shiro spoke again. “To release _tsukibotsu’s_ power, you’ll need to be at peace, of one mind and one will. It may take a while for you to master it, but if it’s you, Keith, you can do it. Even in this form, however, he will serve well.” 

“Yeah,” Keith said stiltedly. “Thanks. I… I’ll work on it.” 

“Then, I’ll see you tonight,” Shiro said softly. 

Keith didn’t look up until he heard his footsteps recede. 

And then, he trained. 

That was what he always did, when he didn’t want to look too closely at why his breath caught. 

He went to Shiro’s room again when night fell, and, without speaking, Shiro inked the characters into Keith’s back and slept pressed against him, chest to back. That night, and the next. 

He always left before Keith woke, his side of the bed long cold. 

Keith dreamed of dark roads and running- from something, he knew not what, that lurked just behind.


	6. Chapter 6

Those days set a pattern for the next, and the one after that. 

Night after night, Keith would sit still while Shiro’s brush carefully painted over the same lines. Then, the lights went out and they slept, only for Keith to dream and wake up alone to a new day.

It wasn’t a routine, exactly. Keith’s self-imposed training regimen continued, but sometimes he’d be interrupted by a bored Lance who informed him precisely what he was doing wrong. And when that happened, Hunk wasn’t too far behind, carrying trays of snacks or baskets of harvested fruit. 

Keith savored the perfect tart ripeness of dark cherries and sparred Lance with a stick. Shiro didn’t come by again, but he was always in the room they now shared when night fell, waiting patiently for Keith as a dog did its master. 

Only: who was the master and who was the dog?

“When are we leaving?” Keith asked, each time after the first, when the ink had dried in sharp pin-aches. 

“Soon,” Shiro promised as the lights went out. 

On the fifth day, the dream changed. He was running on a dirt path, trees on either side- and a few steps ahead, a swift stream glinted like mercury under a full moon. The path continued after it- and he had the vague but terrifying idea that he was being chased. Something was after him. 

His heart pounded in his ears and his breathing was labored, like he’d been running for some time. 

He came to a crossing- water ran in a swift river, the moonlight glinting off its coursing surface- he couldn’t stop- if he stopped it would catch him. 

But the river would sweep him down. Overhead, on a withered branch, a dark bird shrieked. He wasn’t sure what kind. 

He had to hurry. He had to decide.  _ It _ could be here at any moment.

And just as he thought it, suddenly, it was  _ there _ : a presence larger than the long shadows, hot breath against his neck---

Keith woke clawing himself free from the blankets and furs. Blind panic made him reach for his knife, atop the folded set of his clothes at the foot of the futon. As soon as his fingers closed around the cool leather grip, his heart settled. Holding the dagger calmed him. 

He took a deep breath, looking around the room. It was pitch dark, save for the dim moonlight outlining the paper doors. Was that rain he could hear or the rustling of the wind through the trees? Yes, that was thunder rolling in the distance. He hadn’t even realized there was weather outside of an eternal idyllic summer, here.

He looked to the side-- Shiro was gone. Keith touched the shallow imprint his body had left and was surprised to find it faintly warm. Shiro hadn’t been gone long, then. Where had he gone? And why? 

Keith got to his feet and dressed. If he was ever going to find out, it had best be now. 

Outside, the rain was light, more wind than water. The lamps burned low, cowed by the gusts, but the floor wasn’t damp- almost as though it repelled the weather outside the eaves of the house. That was a blessing, as Keith hadn’t bothered with the clunky wooden sandals that came with his outfit. He hadn’t realized how much he’d sorely miss his cadet uniform. 

He paused at the veranda, thinking hard about where Shiro might have gone. Kitchen, for a late night snack seemed unlikely. He had no idea where Shiro went even when it was the middle of the day. He’d never joined Keith for meals, either. 

That was when he heard it-- the cry of the same bird that had been in his dream. 

Keith turned towards the sound and followed. 

The bird’s haunting shriek led him to the edge of the grounds, coming from deep within a forest very like the first he’d stumbled across. But the trees here were withered, stripped of their lush summer crowns. As he neared the boundary, the air got colder. A lamp had been left against the roots of a tree, still lit. Almost like a marker.

It was a familiar feeling. A familiar warning. 

Keith hesitated on the lip of the forest edge. There was no path, but there was space to pick a way through between the tree roots.

The cry came again- louder. 

Keith gripped  _ tsukibotsu’s  _ hilt, unlocking the blade from its sheathe, and stepped inside the forest. 

All at once, the thunder was louder and the air was frosty, prickling his throat with ice. The rain outside had turned into a light snow. Keith pulled the kimono flaps tighter together and pushed on-- until he heard a voice screaming, not far from the brush where he stood, running along a narrow dirt path. A path he’d often seen in his dreams.

“Help! Someone help me!” 

A man was running across the forest- a human, dressed in a torn business suit. He was thin and reedy, with a heavy wrinkled brow under a balding fringe and liver-spotted hands.

At his heels came a great black wolf, too large to be anything but a monster. 

The man tripped-- falling with a heavy thump. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to do it! It just happened! Please, spare me!” 

_ Lie. _ The word wasn’t spoken, but it echoed in the forest. 

“She was a tease! She knew I had money and she was trying to extort it from me!” The man defended himself. 

_ Lie _ . 

“I’ll dump the body elsewhere- Yes, the sea! I’ll never come here again, please!” 

_ Judgement has been passed.  _

The man screamed as the wolf pounced, massive paws crushing the man’s ribs, foot-long claws, digging into his abdomen. Sharp teeth closed around the man’s neck, snipping it in two with a twist of a head. Blood soaked the wolf’s muzzle and the thin skein of snow on the ground, staining red. The corpse stiffened, locked in agony as it gave birth to a blackened shadow. The silhouette struggled to escape, but the wolf caught it in its jaws, tearing it apart like a sheet of sheer cloth, swallowing the ragged scraps.

The body, hollow, sank into the ground, disappearing underneath the snow. 

Its prey devoured, the wolf licked its chops, heavy head swinging towards where Keith had frozen still against a tree. 

Keith should run. He should definitely run. If he started now maybe he’d make it back to the forest edge. 

Just as he thought it, the wolf approached, coming for Keith at a loping trot. For a moment, it stood before him, towering. Then, the beast’s mass shrank rapidly until a man stood where the wolf had been. 

Keith’s blood ran cold. It was Shiro-- but not. 

There was nothing of Shiro in the wild, frightening face, teeth too sharp, face twisted in a deranged grin. Shiro’s neat, cropped hair was a long, tousled mess on this man, white streak gone. His dark silk kimono sleeves flapped loose at his waist, revealing the rugged body beneath. His right arm glowed with a tattoo of words Keith couldn’t read. His eyes were a feral gold, like embers in the dark forest night. He seemed larger, more god than spirit. 

“Who are you?” Keith’s teeth clicked, chattering in the cold. He drew  _ Tsukibotsu _ out of his scabbard and held it between them. A new monster? One of Shiro’s kin? Or a shapeshifter, taking on the _okami_ ’s appearance.

“Don’t you recognize me, beloved?” The man crooned, taking the hand that held  _ Tsukibotsu  _ and pressing it to his chest before Keith even had time to swing it. His was an iron grip that threatened to crush, his claws breaking the skin. He was cold. Like a cadaver, barely warmer than the snow. His mouth was streaked in red, bleeding out of the corners of his mouth. 

“But I suppose we’ve never been formally introduced, like this.”

“Let go,” Keith bit out, and tightened his grip on the dagger, twisting his wrist so the naked blade bit into the man’s bare skin. 

Only it didn’t. His skin was whole, despite the keen edge digging into it. Not even a drop of blood. It was like  _ Tsukibotsu _ had turned into rubber when it had repelled every single demon thus far. 

“You should know better than to use a blade against its true master,” the man tutted. “This katana in particular has been blooded by our clan for centuries, long before you were born.” 

Keith pushed instead of tugged, breaking out of the man's grip and slamming the handle and pommel into his throat. That, at least, did get a reaction- a choked little gasp as Keith drew away, only to have a clawed hand draw him back in by his kimono belt, tearing the fabric. 

Keith would’ve pulled free of the clothes, winter air or not, except the man’s large hands had him pinned in place. 

“You asked a question. Won’t you stay to hear my answer? You know me by my other, his name is Shiro. I am Kuro. He is Order and Balance. I am Chaos and Judgement. He is White. I am Black. I prefer action to reflection. And you smell very, very good, little one.” 

There was a primal darkness to Kuro’s low voice that was a bare whisper in Shiro’s, a promise of savage things that filled Keith’s mind with hunting wolves. 

It was a voice wholly unlike Shiro, even though it wore most of the same face. Because Shiro was, for all their disagreements,  kind. Shiro was good. Shiro didn’t eat people. 

But Kuro did. 

And very soon, Keith might be next and it wouldn’t matter what anyone was called. 

“Shiro, if you’re in there--” Keith began, his voice a croak.

“He sleeps. Your voice won’t reach him here.“ Kuro trailed a finger down Keith’s throat, forcing him to hold his breath as it scraped. Blood welled, dripping down to his collarbone until a long, flat tongue darted out to lap it up. Keith’s kimono hung off his shoulders, baring his skin to the cold and the slow, wet nuzzle of Kuro’s stained mouth. His lips trailed the slope of his shoulder to his neck. 

“And why wake? I’m not doing anything he wouldn’t. We’re two sides of the same coin. What he wants,”  Kuro’s free hand slipped under Keith’s kimono; dragged possessively up the inside of his thighs. “What I want-- are one and the same.” 

“And that is?”

“I thought that was obvious.” Kuro mouthed at Keith’s shoulder, the shock of the tips of fangs making Keith jerk despite the threat of claws at his throat

But the sharp teeth that had torn the man’s spirit never sank into his shoulder. The claws shrank back and the flesh pressed against him warmed, an unreasonable summer sun contained in a person. 

“Keith?” 

Confused, Keith raised his head, meeting Shiro’s gray, bewildered stare. The sky above had lightened, the barest hint of dawn on the horizon. 

“What are you--” Shiro’s hand, still buried between Keith’s thighs, twitched and he could see the realization of what had happened unfolding on Shiro’s face. 

“You’re hurt,” he said abruptly, reaching for Keith’s throat. 

Keith drew back, starting to pull away only to stumble.  

Shiro’s grip tightened. “Let me… at least the bleeding. I can make it better,” he said quietly, desperately. 

Keith would have refused, anyway, and left, but the way he said it… and the way Kuro had spoken… 

“Tell me why I should.” 

“Keith, please, I wouldn’t-- I’d never want to hurt you.” 

“You could kill me. You nearly did. You gave me a toy for a weapon!”

“No, that wasn’t- that wasn’t why I gave it to you,” Shiro said haltingly. “It would still protect you from others.” His ears drooped almost guiltily.

“But not from you,” Keith said pointedly, pulling his clothes back into place. “I don’t know why I thought--” The useless weapon. The hasty marriage. The way Kuro had eaten that soul. Keith shook his head. From the start, it had been a worry at the back of his mind. Who knew if even the ‘ward’ Shiro wrote or the witch they sought were true. Nobody was nice without wanting something back. That was a lesson he’d learned the hard way. 

“Enough’s enough. That person was human.” Albeit a disgusting example of one, he wasn’t sure even he deserved to be ripped limb from limb and eaten. “That must mean this place is connected to the human world, somehow.” 

“It isn’t.”

At Keith’s disbelieving snort, Shiro elaborated. “It’s not a lie. This forest is the path, it emulates your world, but humans who wander in cannot go back out. Once, we could guide the ones who passed our judgement to safety. That is, to the mountain villages that still held the rites, but none remain and the road is closed.” 

“Why should I believe you? This whole time you’ve been hiding everything from me- how do I know any of what you say is real?” 

‘Keith, please, I never meant to deceive you.” 

“That’s a little hard to believe. So you eat human souls. Lucky me, mine’s so delicious- isn’t that what you said? I thought it was weird that you’d give me a knife- I guess it doesn’t matter if I fight back when I can’t hurt you.” 

Shiro’s ears flung up, eyes wide in shock. “What--- Keith, no, that’s not it at all!” 

“Then what is it?” 

“I love you,” Shiro said helplessly. Slowly, he took the tip of _Tsukibotsu’s_ blade and guided it until the point rested just underneath his rib cage. 

Keith stared at it. What was he planning to do?    
  


At the tip of the blade where it met the skin, blood began to well. “Here and only here. It’s difficult to find. But with enough force, it will find its mark.”

Keith’s grip jerked in shock, the blade sliding, just a little, into Shiro’s flesh, making him flinch in pain. 

Keith froze and yanked the blade back in horror. “What the  _ fuck _ is wrong with you?!” He hissed. 

Just when he thought he’d figured out Shiro’s game; that he knew what he was after, he went and did something like  _ this _ . Who offered their heart on a silver platter? Who gave you a knife and told you to slice? Nobody. Nobody but _ Shiro _ . 

It was frightening. His hands shook with a chill colder than the snow. Keith had lived alone, knowing he couldn’t hurt or be hurt by anyone but himself. But here Shiro was, brushing past everything Keith had put between them and offering  _ more _ . His life. He didn’t want to be responsible for that. He couldn’t.

What could be worth earning Keith’s trust so desperately? Was something like ‘love’ worth so much? He had to know Keith wouldn't stay. Not before and not after this.

“Keith, are you okay?” Shiro reached for him, fingers brushing over his hair. 

Flinching, Keith pushed Shiro away. “Stop, just  _ stop _ .” 

Shiro paused. “Of course- you’re frightened-- but Kuro is sealed away, right now. He sleeps when I wake, once dawn breaks.” 

“You’re scarier than he is.” 

Shiro brow creased, eyes hooded and tails sweeping. “You have no need to be afraid of me. You know how to kill me. Just tell me what else you want me to do.” 

“I don’t want  _ anything _ from you.” Keith inhaled sharply. “I’m  _ not worth it _ !” Everyone realized that, eventually. Everyone got tired of Keith, even when he did what they wanted. Better that nobody pretend otherwise. “I’m not good enough to give you those things  _ back _ .” 

Shiro stilled, one hand on the sluggish trail of blood on his chest. “I wanted to have you, but it was never about getting something back,” he said in that gentle voice. “I’ve judged every lost soul that’s found itself on this mountain, but I’ve never seen one like yours. You’re worth it, to me.” 

And that was the problem, wasn’t it, Keith thought, looking down at where Shiro’s blood had stained sakura petals on the snow. 

Because even standing on the same snow-covered forest ground, they lived in two different worlds. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to takashiskeith and so-chintz for being awesome and looking this over. Takashiskeith in particular went over this with a fine-toothed comb, so anything that might've slipped, I probably added in after. :'D

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! It helps me write more. c: 
> 
> You can see some of my sheith/voltron things at: [Tumblr](http://pepperpaprika.tumblr.com) Feel free to drop me an ask!


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